


don't be self-conscious, let's light the fire

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Category: HOTSHOT (Band), JBJ (Band), NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Red String of Fate, pairings to be added as this work is updated, short stories/drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: When a person comes of age, a red ribbon appears, connecting them to their soulmate.[a collection of short stories within the red ribbon (string) of fate!au -- basically me dumping all the ships I've ever wanted to write into one place. pairs are listed in their respective chapter titles for easy navigation.]





	1. silly string & streamers (jonghyun + minhyun)

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! hope you enjoy your read. thank you for clicking on this! ~~(and hopefully stick around until all 12 are done? /wink?)~~  
>  music: winner - island, akmu - dinosaur

When Minhyun walks up to him with a cocktail glass topped with an olive in one hand and a finger sandwich in the other, Jonghyun asks him if he just came from an entirely different dimension.

“What?” Minhyun asks, nonchalantly taking a bite out of his finger sandwich. “Although it is Aron’s birthday party, let me remind you that I’m the one that funded the whole thing.”

“And I’m the one who planned it, but I don’t ever remember ordering cocktails and finger sandwiches,” Jonghyun replies, pointedly. He glances at his co-workers around him, and he mentally winces, because if there were cocktail glasses, then there was also bound to be broken glass as well.

Minhyun smiles at him. “And as your boss, I’m allowed to make last minute changes without telling you,” he states.

“Aren’t you worried there’s going to be broken glass and then someone starts bleeding? That’s the reason why I asked for solo cups and light beer,” Jonghyun says, sighing.

“That’s for the janitors to clean up, then,” Minhyun replies, casually.

“And me!” Jonghyun exclaims. When Minhyun doesn’t reply, only smiling stupidly at his friend, Jonghyun laughs. “How many cocktails have you had so far?” he asks.

“At least two,” Minhyun instantly replies, “I don’t know how many more than that, though.”

Jonghyun just rolls his eyes. Typical Minhyun to withhold information from him when he knows it’s going to embarrass him in front of Jonghyun.

“I haven’t seen you drinking so far,” Minhyun notes. “What’re you doing, Jonghyun? Come and have fun. It’s Friday, there’s drinks, snacks, finger sandwiches--” he consumes the rest of the sandwich in his hand, “--and Aron is making a fool of himself on the dance floor.”

Jonghyun smiles, glancing to his left, where a ring of people are clapping and cheering at Aron, who is currently attempting to breakdance in the middle. _Oh, youth_ , Jonghyun thinks, even though he’s basically the same age--if not younger--than all of them. “I can’t drink, remember?” he says, when he looks back at Minhyun. “I still have to drive you home.”

“Right,” Minhyun murmurs, taking a sip from his cocktail. “Well, just try to have fun, okay? You’ve been standing here for the whole night so far.”

“Parties aren’t so much my thing,” Jonghyun replies, with a shrug. “I’ve just gotten used to being at them because you insist on throwing one for everyone’s birthday and each holiday.”

“What can I say?” Minhyun says, laughing. “I love my co-workers.”

Jonghyun rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you sure do.”

“But you know which one of my co-workers I love the most?” Minhyun asks.

“Who, Sooyoung? I know she bakes the office desserts basically as often as you throw parties,” Jonghyun replies.

Minhyun laughs at his response, but he shakes his head. “Oh come on, Jonghyun,” he says, “shouldn’t it be obvious by now?”

“No?” Jonghyun replies, oblivious.

“I love my PA the most,” Minhyun states, tilting his head to the side and smiling sweetly.

Jonghyun slaps his hand over his eyes and rubs his face. “Right,” he mutters. “Thanks, I guess.”

Minhyun laughs, latching his fingers around Jonghyun’s wrist, pulling his hand off of his face. “Don’t be so embarrassed,” he says, “it’s true.”

Jonghyun just sighs, and refills his solo cup back to the brim with Hawaiian Punch, the only non-alcoholic drink in the vicinity.

At the end of the night, after drunken karaoke, more dance battles, Minki somehow producing a can of silly string and spraying it all over the room, and everyone but Jonghyun and Minhyun leaving, Jonghyun collapses on a chair next to the refreshments table.

Minhyun walks up to him. Thankfully, he’s still relatively sober.

“The punch bowl is nearly empty,” he notes. “You didn’t drink all of it, did you?”

Jonghyun looks up. “What if I did?”

Minhyun breaks out into a loud fit of laughter, holding his stomach as he throws his head back. “Jonghyun, you--”

“It was paid for, and nobody else was drinking it besides me,” Jonghyun says, shrugging.

Minhyun pulls up a chair next to him and sits down, staring at the ceiling. “They really went crazy today, huh?” he murmurs, after a few seconds.

Jonghyun glances above him and around him. “They sure did,” he replies. There’s silly string all over parts of the walls and floors, as well as hanging from the trusses of roof on the ceiling along with various colored streamers and several balloons scattered about. It kind of looks like the aftermath of a kid’s birthday party after he invited his whole class.

“I warned you about the streamers,” Jonghyun says.

Minhyun laughs. “Hey, at least I don’t expect you to clean those up,” he replies.

Jonghyun sighs. “Clean up,” he murmurs, “right.” He stands up and begins to stack the empty bowls that once contained snacks. “Do you mind giving me a hand?” he asks, pointedly staring at Minhyun after the latter hasn’t made any move to help him.

Minhyun rolls his eyes, but he stands up anyways.

Almost an hour later, they’ve basically consolidated all of the silverware and bowls onto one table and thrown away any of the trash on the floor and the tables. Minhyun tells Jonghyun to just leave the silly string on the floors and walls and the rest of the stuff on the ceiling to the janitors.

So Jonghyun collapses on the floor, facing the dark brown of the wooden trusses above him. Minhyun joins him a second later, laying down at his side.

“I’m so tired,” Jonghyun murmurs.

“I am too,” Minhyun replies. “I could fall asleep right here.”

Jonghyun sighs. “Please don’t,” he says.

Minhyun chuckles softly at his response, but he says nothing in return.

Jonghyun stares above him, where tissue streamers of every single color of the rainbow dangle off of the wood. There’s silly string too, the pastel pink of the plastic stark against the dark brown of its background and the brighter colors of the streamers. But there’s one other thing hanging up there too, weaving back and forth between the trusses. It’s a rich, vibrant scarlet color, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. Jonghyun follows it with his eyes, watching it descend onto the ground near the wall on the opposite side of the room. He raises his head slightly in order to trace its path as it gets closer and closer to him, and he lifts up his hand, where it ends, tied to his right pinky.

The red also falls down onto the ground on another side of the room. Jonghyun follows its second path with his stare, watching it run over a table and get closer and closer to him as well.

Minhyun watches it too. He traces it at the same time Jonghyun does. It climbs over his stomach, and he raises his left hand. There, glowing a pretty red, it ends, tied to his left pinky.

Both he and Jonghyun turn their heads at the same time, looking at each other.

They laugh, Jonghyun’s right hand and Minhyun’s left hand both held up to the ceiling.


	2. a feather and a scale (dongho + minki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minki takes Dongho to a club.

Dongho looks up when he hears the bell attached to the door ring. “Hey, just on time,” he says, smiling.

Minki returns his smile, and sits in the chair in front of Dongho.

“What’re you here for today?” Dongho asks, placing his hands on Minki’s shoulders.

“Just fix my roots,” Minki replies, “and Olaplex, please. My hair is feeling a little stringy.”

Dongho chuckles, running his hands through Minki’s hair. “It’s not too bad,” he comments, before reaching over to grab a comb off of the counter.

“Yeah, well, I need this shit as soft as I can get it,” Minki replies, with a short laugh.

Dongho rolls his eyes. “As you wish,” he says. He parts Minki’s locks down the middle with his comb, pushing the hair to both sides of his head. When Dongho’s eyes land on the red snake tattooed on Minki’s skin, its head beginning right underneath the latter’s ear, he runs his thumb over the creature, admiring the vibrancy of its scarlet scales. “How do you keep your tattoos so fresh-looking?” he asks.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I just don’t exfoliate those areas,” Minki replies.

“You don’t exfoliate your whole arm?” Dongho asks.

“Nah,” Minki hums, with a small laugh, “I just make sure I don’t scrub over the snakes.”

“That’s a hassle,” Dongho comments.

“Well, when body art is your hobby and your job, you’ve kinda got to keep your own art looking top-notch or else people are gonna think you’re a shitty tattoo artist,” Minki replies.

Dongho hums. “True,” he murmurs, “it’s the same with my hair.”

And then when Dongho’s finished working on Minki’s hair, having completed blow-drying it and curling the ends, Minki admires his appearance in the mirror for a few seconds before turning around and giving Dongho a hug. “You’re my favorite hairdresser,” he says, with a grin.

Dongho returns his smile. “Well, it’s my job,” he replies, “and your hair likes me.”

Minki retracts himself, holding Dongho’s hands for a moment. He stares down at Dongho’s left hand. Dongho is wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves reaching just below his wrist, but they’re not long enough to cover the flaming tail of the phoenix that’s wrapped around his forearm.

“If you ever want another tattoo,” Minki begins, “you can totally hit me up.”

Dongho laughs. “Thanks,” he says, “but this last one you gave me was pretty painful, so I don’t think I’m planning to get another one for a while.”

Minki shrugs. “Alright,” he replies. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Later that night, Minki holds Dongho’s hand as he drags him into a club. They take their spots on stools at the bar, the bartender instantly recognizing them and asking if they wanted their regular drinks.

Minki giggles, scooting closer to Dongho, when he sees Dongho take a sip of his millionaire sour made with ginger ale.

“You’re such a prude,” he comments, running his index finger over the edge of the glass of his mojito.

“What?” Dongho asks, with a sheepish smile.

“We’re at a _club_ , Dongho. And, every time we go out you never drink,” Minki says.

Dongho just shrugs. “Getting wasted isn’t so much my thing, I’m too old for that now,” he replies.

“You’re twenty-four,” Minki states, before he downs the rest of his mojito and places the glass on the counter, asking the bartender to mix him another drink. “Same age as me. I enjoy my mojitos.”

Dongho rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, with a short laugh.

Two more mojitos and another millionaire sour later, Minki takes Dongho’s third glass out of his hand and places it down on the counter. “What?” Dongho asks.

Minki grabs his hand, standing up and pulling him. “Come on,” he says, with a giddy smile, “let’s dance.”

“I--” Dongho begins, but Minki doesn’t give him a chance to reply, and instead just tugs him out onto the dance floor. Instantly, Dongho is engulfed in a swarm of people, the lights flashing above him sending dizzying colors flying across his vision, the bass of the song currently playing so intense that his head slightly hurts. He’s basically lost all of his senses except for the feeling of Minki’s hand against his own, guiding him while he blindly follows.

There’s the smell of people around him, the temperature suddenly so warm. But Minki pulls him up close, sliding his arms around Dongho’s neck with a sweet smile on his lips. And then Dongho forgets there’s other people around him, because he presses his forehead against Minki’s and laughs as they move together. Minki twirls himself while holding onto Dongho’s hand, and Dongho catches him against his back when he twirls back into his embrace. Their footsteps don’t even match the song that’s currently playing on the speakers, some hardcore EDM and house music mix, but Dongho doesn’t particularly care, because it’s not like he’s there to show off his dancing skills in the first place.

And then Minki slides his arms back around Dongho’s neck, pulling their bodies and faces close together. Dongho can smell the sweet, sugary scent of the mojitos Minki had been drinking on his lips, and he almost sticks out his tongue to taste it himself.

He begins to run his hands down Minki’s sides, admiring the shape of his body through his fitted shirt. They’re both warm and sweaty, from the heat of the crowd around them and the rushing blood in their bodies from dancing. Dongho doesn’t care, and he digs his fingers into Minki’s hips, holding him in place up against his body as they dance. Minki’s laughter is hot on his cheek, the smile on his lips ingrained in his vision, and the sensation of his body moving is tantalizing.

And a couple of hours later, when they stumble out of the club into the cold night air, they’re both still pulsing warmth.

Dongho feels a little sorry for the driver of the taxi he hails down when he falls onto the back seat, barely able to utter out the address of his apartment before Minki starts giggling and gives a wet kiss to his pulse.

But of course, all of his thoughts are lost when Minki begins to push him backwards down the hallway of his apartment, both of them just barely managing to shrug off their coats, and Dongho nearly trips on the leg of a table. He hasn’t felt this giddy in such a long time, like his heart is beating in both his chest and his stomach, the peppering of kisses Minki puts on his face fueling the heat underneath his skin and the racing of his pulse.

Later that night, when Minki falls on top of him, exhausted, their bare chests pressed together, Dongho is still skittishly hot. Minki murmurs how sleepy he is in his ear, and Dongho laughs, shoving him off to the side, because they’re both too sweaty to sleep attached to each other.

But Minki still insists on laying his head on Dongho’s chest, right over his heart, their hands held, fingers laced tightly together.

Dongho lifts up his arm and stares at their joined hands.

The chain of red snakes on Minki’s arm swirl around his limb, running down to his wrist. And then on Dongho’s forearm, the bright orange phoenix is inked in the middle of flight, wrapping around his skin, its tail made of licks of bright flame. One of its fiery feathers shines brightly in the dim light, a rich and saturated red color. It transforms into a ribbon, silky against his skin, and wraps around both his and Minki’s arms and fingers multiple times, before one end of it fades into the bloody red of the tongue of one of the hissing snakes on Minki’s wrist.


	3. cats and dogs (jihoon + guanlin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon works in a pet shop. Guanlin needs a hamster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian [translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5928988) of this part has been provided by the lovely [byunnya](https://twitter.com/byunnya)!

“Welcome, how can I help you?” Jihoon asks, stepping out from behind the counter and approaching the boy who just entered the shop.

“I-- uh,” the boy begins, hesitant. He stands still, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at Jihoon as if he suddenly grew wings. And then, he quickly pulls his phone out of his back pocket and taps on the screen.

Jihoon stares, confused. He stands there, smiling at the boy sheepishly. He notices that the boy is relatively taller than him, and Jihoon would feel a little bit intimidated if not for the fact that the way the boy’s black bangs hang over his forehead and the startled expression on his face make him look very harmless.

The boy looks up from his phone. “I need to find--” he begins, with a very noticeable accent, and then he glances back down at his phone and taps something. There’s a beeping noise, and he says something in a language Jihoon doesn’t know, but sounds vaguely like Chinese. The next second, the phone spits out a word. “Hamster,” it says.

He probably doesn’t know Korean well at all, Jihoon thinks, if he needed to use a translator app in order to communicate. Jihoon laughs softly, because the mildly hopeful look on the boy’s face after having used the app is kind of endearing.

“You don’t know Korean well?” Jihoon asks, slowly.

The boy pauses for a second, as if processing his words. He nods a moment later.

“That is okay,” Jihoon replies, with a grin. “Please follow me,” he says, beckoning at the boy with his hand. He turns, and glances behind him to make sure the boy is following him. “What’s your name?” he asks, as he walks down an aisle to the corner of the shop where they keep their hamsters.

“Lai Guanlin,” the boy replies. His voice is relatively low, a little lazy-sounding, but Jihoon thinks it fits his face and his aura.

“Nice to meet you, Guanlin,” Jihoon replies, with a smile. “My name is Park Jihoon.”

“Nice,” Guanlin comments. Jihoon laughs at his response.

“These are our hamsters,” he says, when he and Guanlin stop in front of all the hamster cages, staring at the little creatures that run back and forth across across their cages, some sleeping and some playing.

“I need a hamster,” Guanlin begins, in stunted Korean, “for my friend. He has a birthday.”

“What color hamster does your friend like?” Jihoon asks. He points at one of the hamsters. “Black?” he asks. He points at another. “Orange?” And another. “White?” He goes off listing every color of the hamster they have, before Guanlin stops him at the word “multicolored”.

“Okay, I’ll take the multicolored guy out for you,” Jihoon says.

And at that moment, when Jihoon is about to tell Guanlin he’s going to go to the back room to get one of their animal cages, a large and fluffy tawny-colored cat walks up to Guanlin and meows at him.

Jihoon giggles, waving at the cat. “This is Tofu. He is out store’s cat,” he introduces.

Guanlin looks a little confused at what he’s just said, so Jihoon says, “Cat.” Guanlin still looks a little confused, as if he’s searching for the meaning of the word in his head.

Jihoon thinks for a moment, before he remembers what Guanlin did at when he first walked into the pet store. He pulls out his phone, tapping on the Naver translate app, switching the output language to Chinese. “Cat,” he says, to his phone, and his phone responds with, “ _Mao._ ”

Guanlin’s mouth goes into an “o”. He smiles, before saying, “Tofu cat is cute.”

Tofu meows again, rubbing his head against Guanlin’s leg.

“Tofu likes you,” Jihoon notes, with a giggle. “You can touch him.”

Guanlin leans down, reaching out an index finger to rub Tofu on the head. The cat flicks his tail back and forth happily, beginning to purr a moment later.

“Tofu is generally grumpy,” Jihoon says. “He is lazy too. He doesn’t like to wake up.”

“Oh,” Guanlin murmurs, still staring down at the cat and petting him, “but he is happy with me?”

“Yes,” Jihoon replies.

Guanlin smiles. “Maybe because I am lazy too,” he says. “Tofu cat can see I am similar to him.”

Jihoon laughs at his statement. _Very charming_ , he thinks. The way Guanlin looks down at the cat is full of wonder, as if he’d never seen a cat before. “Do you know what other animals are called in Korean?” he asks.

Guanlin shakes his head.

“Follow me,” Jihoon says, beckoning at Guanlin with his hand. For the next hour or so, he leads Guanlin around the store, pointing out the names of different animals they have in Korean. Tofu even follows them for part of the way, until his laziness overtakes him and he goes to nap on a shelf.

Guanlin doesn’t know any animal names in Korean, so Jihoon has to use his translating app in order to get them into Chinese. Jihoon even teaches Guanlin animal terms such as different coat patterns for the cats and dogs they have, what certain toys are called, what fish food is made of, and even the different types of cat litter the store offers.

After having gone around all of the aisles, Guanlin still looks fascinated. “You are smart,” he says.

Jihoon laughs, and shakes his head. “I just know a lot about animals,” he explains.

“You like animals?” Guanlin asks.

Jihoon nods. “I think they’re really cute,” he says. “Animals are my friends.”

“Oh,” Guanlin murmurs. “You are like my friend. My friend that has a birthday. He likes hamsters.”

“Ah, right,” Jihoon replies. “Let’s get you that hamster you wanted, okay?”

And then when Guanlin pays for the hamster and all of its supplies, Jihoon hands him the cage and the plastic bag, smiling sweetly. “Thank you for your purchase,” he says. “I hope your friend likes his new pet.”

“You’re welcome,” Guanlin responds, with an equal smile. “He likes hamsters. He will like this hamster.”

Jihoon giggles. _Very endearing_ , he thinks, about the way Guanlin says things. He chalks it up to the fact that the boy just doesn’t know Korean well.

And then the next afternoon, when Jihoon is lazily staring out the store window, daydreaming about nothing in particular, the shop’s door opens. He glances over, and lo and behold, Guanlin is back.

“Hi!” Jihoon greets. “Were there any problems with the hamster?”

Guanlin shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “My friend likes him. A lot. He named him Pebbles.”

“That’s cute,” Jihoon comments, with a smile. “So what brings you back today?”

Guanlin opens his mouth, and pauses for a moment, as if he were trying to remember something. “...I learned some Korean,” he says, slowly. He still has a very heavy accent, his words still stunted, but his grammar sounds a little more smooth.

“Oh?” Jihoon murmurs.

“I did not know what to say yesterday,” Guanlin continues. “So I want to reintroduce myself to you.”

“Oh, you needn’t--” Jihoon begins, with a soft laugh, but Guanlin goes on anyways.

“My name is Lai Guanlin,” he says. “I am seventeen years old, and I am a student. It is nice to meet you, Park Jihoon. I like cats and dogs a lot. And…” Guanlin’s voice trails off into silence.

“And?” Jihoon asks.

If anything, he sees Guanlin visibly gulp at that moment. “And…” Guanlin begins, quietly, “I think you are handsome.”

“Oh,” Jihoon murmurs, frozen for a moment.

“I--” Guanlin begins, his face turning just slightly red.

But Jihoon just starts giggling madly. He walks up to Guanlin, before leaning a bit onto his toes and enveloping Guanlin in a hug.

Guanlin is still for a moment, before he hesitantly returns Jihoon’s embrace.

“I think you’re handsome too,” Jihoon says.

“Oh, thank you,” Guanlin replies. He quietly laughs.

Jihoon has the widest smile he’s had in a long time on his face and a giddy, jumpy feeling in his stomach. As he looks over Guanlin’s shoulder, he raises his left hand and splays his fingers apart, staring at the red ribbon tied around his pinky.

He pulls back, laughing, his hand still held in front of his face.

“Why is your hand up?” Guanlin asks, confused.

Jihoon just shakes his head. Next year, Guanlin will see.


	4. green hills, blue sky (hyeongseop + euiwoong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyeongseop and Euiwoong ride the train to school together.

Euiwoong rests his head against his fist, propped up by his elbow sitting on top of the windowsill inside the car of the train he sits in. He watches the people on the platform outside the window. There are students just like him, running around with their suitcases and duffel bags. There’re parents too, holding the hands of their younger children, some distraught as they watch their sons and daughters leave their sides for another year of school.

“Hey.”

Euiwoong turns around. And when he recognizes who’s taken a seat next to him, a wide grin spreads on his lips. “Hey,” he replies.

Hyeongseop smiles at him and waves, wiggling his fingers. He drops his backpack down on the floor. There’s a large crease through the flap of his blazer, and Euiwoong’s eye twitches, but he tells himself that he should’ve expected that from Hyeongseop. However, he has to do something when he notices Hyeongseop’s tie is loose and lopsided.

“Ugh, hyung,” he whines, reaching out his hands. “Let me fix this.”   


Hyeongseop looks down at Euiwoong’s hands grasping his tie. “Does it really matter?” he asks. “We won’t even be at school for like, another six hours.”

“Yes, it matters,” Euiwoong says, unraveling the knot. “Because it bothers me.”

Hyeongseop just lets out a breath, but a quiet smile forms on his lips as he watches Euiwoong work his hands on the black silk.

“How was your summer?” Euiwoong asks, as he’s patting down Hyeongseop’s tie with a satisfied look on his face, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Pretty great,” Hyeongseop replies, with a laugh, because he thinks Euiwoong’s current expression looks quite adorable. “I spent the whole summer at my family’s villa in Macau.” 

“Yeah, I know, you had photos all over your Kakao story,” Euiwoong states, rolling his eyes. “You guys have a very nice pool.”

“Thanks,” Hyeongseop says, giggling. “How was your summer?”   


“I did tell you that I went to Singapore, right?” Euiwoong replies. Hyeongseop nods, so he carries on. “Well, you wouldn’t believe how  _ clean  _ everything was--” and then Hyeongseop snorts, but Euiwoong just narrows his eyes and continues talking.

Sometime when Euiwoong is explaining how he happened upon the actors White and Captain filming their new TV series while he was in Chiang’mai, the train begins moving. Both he and Hyeongseop don’t really notice though, because Euiwoong just got to the part where he also got to see the beautiful Prim in the flesh and is actively describing her before he remembers that he also took photos on his phone.

Later, when Euiwoong complains he’s hungry, Hyeongseop hoists his backpack up onto his lap. When he unzips it and Euiwoong peers inside, he looks at his hyung, and exclaims, “Are you joking?”

Hyeongseop laughs at his reaction. “What?” he says, nonchalantly shrugging.

“Where are all your books and stuff?” Euiwoong asks, reaching inside and pulling out one of the very many choco pies that are inside Hyeongseop’s backpack.

“I stuffed them all in my suitcase,” Hyeongseop replies, extracting a choco pie for himself before letting his backpack slip down to the floor. 

“Okay,” Euiwoong begins, “but then where’d you put your clothes? You can’t just wear the same uniform the whole year.”   


Hyeongseop smiles. “Well, you know, since you and I are basically the same size,” he says, “and that you do laundry way more often than I do, I figured that I’d just borrow your clothes if I needed.”

Euiwoong nearly spits out the choco pie in his mouth. He punches Hyeongseop lightly in the arm. “Seriously?” he replies, exasperated. “You’re so irresponsible!”

Hyeongseop giggles at his reaction. “But you’ll let me, right?” he asks.

Euiwoong rolls his eyes. “I guess,” he replies, gruffly.

“Thanks!” Hyeongseop cheers, and he hugs Euiwoong.

Euiwoong just sits there, his face tilted slightly down as he chews on his choco pie. Hyeongseop releases him after several long seconds, and finally tears into the wrapper of his own choco pie.

To Euiwoong’s shock, he and Hyeongseop manage to go through Hyeongseop’s entire supply of snacks within an hour or two. Or, more like Hyeongseop ate a good ninety-percent of it while Euiwoong was thoughtfully chewing and reading something on his phone at the same time. 

There’d been a lot in Hyeongseop’s backpack too, as when Euiwoong now glances at it there’s only two or three thin workbooks and a pencil pouch in it, all the extra space having been previously occupied by snacks.

Euiwoong sighs, and tells Hyeongseop he’s gonna get fat if he keeps it up.

Hyeongseop just scoffs and uses the excuse that he’s a growing boy and he can eat however much he wants. He tells Euiwoong to stop being his mom, but Euiwoong just retorts that he can’t help it if his hyung is such a child.

Hyeongseop just sticks his tongue out, before grabbing a trail mix bar out of his pocket.

He ends up falling asleep fifteen or so minutes after consuming the last snack he’d brought with him. Euiwoong notices it when Hyeongseop just falls over onto his shoulder. He rolls his eyes and huffs, thinking that his hyung might as well just have eaten himself into a mini food coma. But he doesn’t bother to push Hyeongseop off of him, because he doesn’t mind so much, instead focusing on scrolling through his social media on his phone.

An hour or so into Hyeongseop’s nap, Euiwoong puts his phone down. He looks outside the window, at the passing landscape right in front of his eyes. He sees the rolling hills of grass, both green and yellow with the hardships the heat had brought that summer. He sees the sky above him, a pretty, saturated blue color, with only a few wisps of clouds here and there. There’s nothing out there but the landscape. Not even livestock from farmers in the area or a bird flying up ahead. At that moment, Euiwoong feels like it’s just simply the sky, the land, him, and the weight leaning against him--Hyeongseop--in the world.

And then he glances at Hyeongseop next to him. He sees Hyeongseop’s peaceful, napping face, the flutter of his eyelashes against his skin, the curve of his nose, the pink puff of his lips.

Euiwoong stares at his lips, and he thinks,  _ What would happen if I kissed him?  _ Would Hyeongseop wake up, would he continue sleeping? If he woke up, would he be angry? Surprised? Happy? Would he kiss Euiwoong back?   


And then, as if some magical force is acting upon him, Euiwoong begins to lean closer.

_ If I kiss him, what will happen? Does thinking about this mean that I’m in love? _

But little does he know, that answer has already been decided for him.

Little does he know, a glowing red ribbon winds its way around both his and Hyeongseop’s arms and legs, tangling into what appears to be one large, scarlet knot, before finally connecting to each of them at the base of their pinkies.

Little does he know, fate has already planted the seeds of their entwined future together.


	5. fortune teller (jungjung + justin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a teacher, Zhengting expects the first day of school to be problematic.

Zhengting sighs, straightening the stack of papers in his hands before putting them off to the side. He glances at his watch, and he has forty minutes to drive down to the store to buy soup or something and get back up to the school before his next class starts.

He mentally slaps himself for having forgotten to pack lunch on the first day of school, since the day was already bound to be hectic. But he shrugs the moment after, thinking that he might as well just add another problem to top it off.

He stands up, tucking his keys and his wallet into both of his pockets and exits his classroom, locking the door behind him. As he walks down the hallway, there’re already kids sitting off to the sides with lunch trays on the floors and on their laps. Some of them meet his gaze, and he smiles and waves.

Halfway down the hall, he sees a particularly large group of kids. The ones sitting closer to the middle of the hall quickly move over when they see him approaching. But a couple of them catch his eye -- specifically a girl and a boy sitting next to each other, tucked into one of the alcoves in the wall. The girl has her hair dyed a fiery bright red, curled at the ends, locks tucked into a cloth headband atop her head. The boy she sits next to is very tall, Zhengting realizes, or at least he looks extremely tall next to his friend. A head of light brown hair, parted down the middle, flops up and down slightly as he chats animatedly with the girl. The girl holds out her hands, a piece of paper folded into a fortune teller sitting on her fingers, and begins to play it.

Zhengting smiles as he walks by. He remembers him and his friends at that age making those and writing stupid (mis)fortunes on them and competing to see who would end up with the luckiest “future”.

He barely makes it back to the school with a salad in one hand and fifteen minutes to spare, because lunch hour rush is absolutely horrendous. As he’s walking down the hallway to his classroom, he sees the same pack of kids, the one with the red-haired girl and the tall boy, move past him, probably in preparation to head to their own classes shortly.

And then when he’s only a few meters away from his classroom door, he sees something white lying off to the side of the hallway. When he crouches down to pick it up, he realizes it’s a fortune teller -- possibly the one the red-haired girl and tall boy had been playing with previously.

Zhengting sits down at his desk, and unfolds the piece of paper curiously, reading the fortunes written on the inside. As he expects, there’s a bunch of stupid things, such as “marry at age 69”, “have 16 children”, “die from rat poison”, which all give him a laugh. But he notices there’s more writing on the middle of the fortune teller, not just underneath the flaps that one would flip to reveal their “future”.

Zhengting unfolds the entire fortune teller so he can read the text in the middle. He raises his eyebrows at what he sees. There’s two distinct handwriting styles, both written in pencil, so he figures it’s a conversation passed between two students.

_Who’s that teacher that teaches in the classroom down the hall from us?_

_You mean the class right across the water fountains?_

_Yes._

_That’s Mr. Zhu, the calculus teacher._

_Oh. Don’t you think he’s kinda hot?_ _  
_

_...What? LOL_

Zhengting crumples the piece of paper before tossing it in the trashcan next to him.

He feels flattered, but at the same time he feels really, really strange.

A class period later, Zhengting learns that the red-haired girl’s name is Meiqi. She’s in one of his afternoon classes. Her voice is smooth, she smiles a lot, and she doesn’t hesitate to ask questions. When class ends, Zhengting sees the tall boy she had been talking to peek around the corner of his classroom door. He gets a closer look at the boy -- rounder face, large eyes, plumper lips, and Zhengting is momentarily jealous of his rather appealing features. He appears to be noticeably younger than his friend, but his height tells otherwise.

“Just a minute,” Meiqi tells him, before approaching Zhengting and asking him for clarification on that day’s homework. Zhengting briefly wonders if she was the one that made the fortune teller, and if she was, which side of the conversation she’d been on. But he shakes his head when she and her friend walk out the door, because thinking about those things would only distract him.

And then when he turns and looks back at his doorway, he notices something on the floor. He walks over, and picks it up.

It’s a student ID card.

On it is a picture of Meiqi’s friend. _Huang Minghao, year 2_ is printed beneath his photo.

Zhengting takes the card back with him to his desk. He tells himself that he’ll give it to one of the ladies at the school’s front office to return it to the boy -- to return it to _Minghao_.

When Zhengting’s last class of the day rolls around, he nearly goes into shock.

He watches the students slowly filter into his class, until he sees a familiar figure and a familiar face.

Minghao walks in, by himself. He pauses at the doorway, looking around at the seats, before taking one closer to the front of the classroom, in the second row.

Zhengting can’t help but stare, his heartbeat thundering in his ears because what he sees at that moment basically makes him feel like he's just been punched in the stomach. He slowly looks at his own left hand, at the red glimmering ribbon tied to his pinky, and follows its path carefully to make sure he is seeing things right.

And sure enough, his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

The other end of Zhengting’s ribbon leads to Minghao’s right hand, looping around the boy’s leg before it climbs up, tying around his pinky.

Zhengting takes a shaky breath, slowly rising from his seat. He approaches Minghao carefully, the boy’s ID card grasped in one of his hands.

“Minghao?” Zhengting says, quietly.

Minghao looks up. “Yes?” he replies.

Zhengting inhales sharply. Up close, Minghao is even more attractive than he was from afar. His eyes are bright, and they stare up at Zhengting with a look of wonder.

“You dropped this,” Zhengting says, holding out the boy’s ID card. It’s taking a lot of willpower for him to keep his voice level.

“Oh,” Minghao murmurs, and he takes the card from Zhengting’s hand. “Thanks,” he replies, and smiles.

“You’re welcome,” Zhengting says. He hurriedly turns around and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking hands.

He winces, because he knows he’s going to be in for one chaotic school year.


	6. city lights (sungwoon + taehyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sungwoon meets Taehyun outside of his convenience store.

Sungwoon is sweeping the floor of the convenience store, preparing to close up shop, when he notices someone sitting right outside the store on the sidewalk.

Curious, he approaches the front of the store and peers through the window. His eyes widen at what he sees.

The man sitting in front of him is slouched, staring ahead, a beer bottle in one of his hands. He’s wearing a black denim jacket, and on the back is the head of a lion in the middle of a roar, flames flickering around its head instead of a mane. Sungwoon instantly recognizes the image. It’s the logo of one of the local motorcycle gangs.

He hurriedly walks out of his store, his broom in one hand in case he needs to defend himself. He’ll try to approach the man nicely, but if he refuses to leave, then Sungwoon will have to call the police.

Even though the sliding doors behind Sungwoon make a swishing noise when he exits the store, the stranger still doesn’t look up at him.

“Excuse me, sir,” he begins.

“Hmm?” the man hums, not bothering to look at Sungwoon. Now that they’re closer, Sungwoon can see his characteristics clearly. Pitch-black hair that’s messy, but effortlessly messy so that it looks like it might’ve been styled that way. He has a smaller frame, his wrists thin, hands disappearing into a pair of worn, fingerless black gloves.

“Can you please leave?” Sungwoon asks. “I’m about to close the store, and I would really like it if you didn’t loiter around.” And also, the man’s kinda scary.

“Don’t want to,” the man simply replies, taking another swig of beer from the bottle in his hand.

“But--” Sungwoon begins, and then the man turns and looks at him. Sungwoon instantly closes his mouth.

The man’s eyes gleam dully in the light, his face slightly washed out, expression flat. But Sungwoon sees something sad in his stare -- he sees loneliness, regret, and maybe even a little bit of pleading. His facial features are also far from scary -- rather, they’re a little bit soft, and Sungwoon’s shoulders relax.

“...What’s your name?” Sungwoon asks, quietly.

“Noh Taehyun,” the man replies.

“Hi, Taehyun,” Sungwoon says. “My name is Ha Sungwoon. I’m the owner of this convenience store.”

“Cool,” Taehyun murmurs, “nice to meet ya.”

Sungwoon smiles. Taehyun stares ahead of him and takes another swig of beer.

“Are you hungry?” Sungwoon asks.

“Kinda,” Taehyun replies.

Sungwoon disappears back into his store. When he returns, he sits down, setting his broom on the sidewalk next to him, and hands Taehyun the sandwich in his other hand.

“What’s this for?” Taehyun asks, glancing between the sandwich and Sungwoon.

“You said you were hungry,” Sungwoon says.

Taehyun shakes his head. “I can’t take it,” he replies, and then with a small laugh, he adds, “don’t got any money for it.”

“It’s okay,” Sungwoon says, softly. “It’s free.”

“Really,” Taehyun states, raising an eyebrow. Sungwoon nods, and Taehyun lets out a loud bark of laughter, before taking the sandwich from Sungwoon’s hands.

“Thanks, this is real nice of ya,” he says, as he’s unwrapping it. “Didn’t think ya’d be this nice to me.”

Sungwoon shrugs. “Why?” he asks.

“Well, money, for one,” Taehyun begins. “And, I know how scared you were when you first saw me. It’s ‘cause of the jacket, isn’t it?”

Sungwoon gulps. If he said yes, would Taehyun beat him up? He seems nice so far, but Sungwoon knows he can never be too careful.

Taehyun laughs at his silence. “Don’t worry,” he reassures. “Some of the guys in my group get involved in the bad stuff, yeah, but I’m not like them. In fact, most of us are just there ‘cause we like bikes and the style, and the only thing we really do is ride bikes in big groups.”

“...Really?” Sungwoon asks, quietly.

Taehyun nods. “The worst thing I’ve done is accidentally hit a woman in the arm because she ran in front of me while I was walking,” he replies.

“Oh,” Sungwoon murmurs.

“So stop looking so petrified, I’m not going to do anything to ya, especially ‘cause you gave me a sandwich for free,” Taehyun says, laughing.

Sungwoon shakes himself and sighs. “Okay,” he says, “okay, I feel better now.”

“Great,” Taehyun hums.

The two of them sit in silence for the next few minutes as Taehyun finishes eating his sandwich. When there’s nothing but the plastic wrapper left, Sungwoon expects him to get up, mount his motorcycle, and drive off, but instead, he just sits there, staring ahead of himself.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Sungwoon asks, after another couple of minutes. “Like, home? It’s pretty late.”

“Nah,” Taehyun replies, shaking his head. 

“Oh,” Sungwoon murmurs. And then it hits him. If Taehyun didn’t have money to buy food for himself… “Do you have a place to stay?” he asks.

Taehyun suddenly stands up, walking a few paces in front of Sungwoon, before turning around to face him. He lifts his face up to the sky, a laugh ingrained on his lips, before spinning around several times, arms extended out at his sides. 

“The only things I’ve got,” he says, after he stops spinning, “are my bike, my sanity, and the city lights in front of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sungwoon murmurs.

“It’s okay,” Taehyun replies, shrugging.

“But you know, you have something else too,” Sungwoon says.

Taehyun tilts his head to the side. “Really?” he asks, “What do you mean?”

And then a smile slowly spreads across Sungwoon’s lips as he looks at Taehyun. “You see it too, don’t you?” 

Taehyun glances down at his right hand, where the saturated crimson of a silk ribbon is tied to his pinky. “Yeah, I do,” he replies, before looking up at Sungwoon.

Sungwoon laughs, holding up his left hand. “Well, now you have something else too.”


	7. wish (donghan + hyunbin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyunbin is Donghan's new teaching assistant.

On the second week of the new school year, Donghan’s wish has been finally granted by the school board after a very, very long chain of stale email conversations, three different application packets submitted in three separate years, and the constant pestering of his friend who works in the nearby university’s department of education.

His wish comes to him in the form of a spindly man named Kwon Hyunbin. Now, Donghan himself is already relatively tall, and the kids in the school he teaches at like him because he’s tall and apparently kids are just fascinated with things more than two times their height.

But Hyunbin, now, Hyunbin’s taller, and when he walks through the door the piece of hair sticking up at the top of his head nearly touches the doorframe, and Donghan scrunches his nose. He already has a slight distaste for Hyunbin, because now there’s competition on who’s the tallest teacher in the school -- who’s going to be the one the kids will love the most.

However, Donghan’s going to be stuck with Hyunbin for the rest of the year. Unless he’s actually some asshole, then Donghan will try to get him fired, but judging by the way Hyunbin introduces himself and shakes Donghan’s hand, he seems far from it.

“Hi, welcome!” Donghan greets, with the most cheer he can muster. He extends his hand towards Hyunbin. “I’m Kim Donghan, and I’m guessing you’re my new teaching assistant?”

Hyunbin jumps slightly, as if Donghan’s greeting was completely unexpected. But he recovers the next second after, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly with one hand as he shakes Donghan’s hand with his other. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling. His voice is kind of deep and raspy, Donghan realizes. Oh, the kids will be absolutely captivated. “I’m Kwon Hyunbin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Donghan says. “You can just put your things over there.” He points to the table nearest to his desk. “For today, since it’s your first day, you can just watch and engage with the kids only if you want to, alright?”

Hyunbin nods. He gulps, obviously a little nervous.

Well, more than just a “little” nervous, Donghan comes to realize, just two hours into the school day. Donghan reads a book to the kids, and Hyunbin sits next to him with oddly correct posture, completely frozen with a grimaced smile on his face. When the kids come over and try to interact with him, he freezes up and laughs awkwardly before shuffling away.

Donghan was prepared for him to be some angel dropped down on Earth with the purpose of charming children and then slowly working his way to replace Donghan at his job, which was the _complete opposite_ of why Donghan wanted an assistant in the first place, but apparently that’s not really the case.

Another hour in, and Hyunbin drops a stapler on a boy's foot. The boy starts bawling, and Hyunbin stutters, “S-Sorry! Sorry!”, waving his hands wildly back and forth as he shifts from foot to foot before looking up at Donghan with a panicked expression on his face.

Donghan sighs, walking up to the boy. “Junyoung,” he says, gently, rubbing the boy on the back, “are you okay?”

Junyoung nods.

“Then why are you crying?” Donghan asks.

“It still hurts a little bit,” Junyoung sniffs.

“It's okay, Junyoung, soon it won't hurt anymore,” Donghan reassures. “Hyunbin said he is sorry. Do you accept his apology?”

Junyoung nods. Donghan smiles, patting the boy on his head. “Good. Now go sit back down with your friends, okay?”

And then when Donghan releases the kids out for recess, Hyunbin has disappeared. Donghan finds him in the storage closet, crying.

He sighs, rubbing his forehead before he walks in and gingerly sits on top of a stack of boxes in front of Hyunbin.

“Hyunbin, why are you crying?” Donghan asks, his voice purposely soft. At this point, he isn't sure how to react to his new assistant. He's had children cry on him, but not fully grown adult men who are taller than him and have deep voices. When Hyunbin doesn't reply, still sniffling and rubbing his reddened eyes,  Donghan gently adds, “If you're worried because you dropped a stapler on Junyoung’s foot, he's okay now.”

Hyunbin looks up, his lips trembling almost comically, and Donghan doesn't know if he wants to hug Hyunbin or bang his own head on the wall.

“What are children?” Hyunbin asks, his voice shaking.

“...What?” Donghan replies.

“What do I do with kids?” Hyunbin continues, holding his hands out like he's shrugging.

“Oh…” Donghan murmurs. It all suddenly makes sense to him. Maybe the reason Hyunbin had been so stiff was because he was nervous around kids. But then, why did he take the job? Donghan is about to ask, but Hyunbin looks up at him with teary eyes and a red nose, and he figures it's not the time to ask.

“Well,” he begins, “just think of kids like you and I. Except, smaller and more innocent versions. Like, you'll want to be gentler and nicer than usual, that's all.”

Hyunbin sniffs. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Donghan replies, smiling. “Or, maybe, talk to them like you're another kid. Make sure you're being pure and innocent and stuff, because parents are so touchy nowadays about outside influences corrupting their kids.” He laughs.

Hyunbin cracks a small, a little huff tumbling from his lips. “Okay,” he murmurs, again.

“Let's go back to the classroom, okay? And how about you go and get the kids from the playground later?” Donghan says.

Hyunbin jumps at his words, instantly panicked.

“I'm kidding,” Donghan replies, with a laugh.

But Donghan still brings Hyunbin out on the playground with him. He tells Hyunbin to just smile nicely, the kids are cute and completely harmless, there's nothing to be afraid of. But then Hyunbin points out Junyoung biting onto the arm of another boy, and Donghan sighs, muttering, “Mostly,” before he runs up to the pair, blowing his whistle.

Later that day, as Donghan is walking around and watching the kids paint, he finds Hyunbin hurriedly rolling up his red ribbon around his arm, creating a giant cocoon around the limb. But no matter how much he rolls, more of the ribbon just appears.

Donghan had ignored the fact that he's on the other end of the giant crimson mess Hyunbin is making, largely because he was in denial his soulmate was someone like Hyunbin. Hyunbin had ignored the fact too, probably because he was much too nervous. But Donghan figures, he'll just confront Hyunbin now because he's making a fool of himself.

“Why are you doing that?” Donghan asks.

Hyunbin looks up. “I don't want to get paint on it,” he replies, simply. “It's much too pretty.”

Donghan raises an eyebrow. “It's not like anyone but you or me can see and touch it,” he says. He can't believe he's repeating a lesson, one that they teach schoolchildren, to a grown man. “Nobody but the two people tied to it can interact with it, and it'll extend as much as you roll it.”

“Oh,” Hyunbin murmurs. He instantly drops his hands, and the ribbon that was cocooned around his arm piles to his feet in one giant red mountain.

Donghan sighs and walks away.

At the end of the day, when the last kid has been picked up by their parent, Donghan goes up to him.

“You've survived,” he says, smiling. “That wasn't too bad, was it?”

Hyunbin scrunches his nose. Donghan laughs.

“I guess it was okay,” Hyunbin replies. “Sorry for uh, crying on you. That was really awkward.”

“It's alright,” Donghan says. “I mean, I've never had an adult cry on me--” Hyunbin suddenly looks uneasy, “--but I guess that means what I said is true, right? We're not far off from kids.”

“I guess,” Hyunbin replies, shrugging. And then he lifts up his hand. “Um,” he begins, biting his lip. “About this…”

Donghan sighs. “Sorry for not addressing that earlier,” he says. “I didn't know what to say.”

“Me neither.” Hyunbin shakes his head. “But, um, can I ask you something related to it? Like it might be kinda early to think about it now but I just wanna--”

“Go ahead,” Donghan interrupts.

“Oh,” Hyunbin murmurs, “okay. Well, uh, you know, since we're soulmates and stuff, when we get married, can we not get kids?”

Donghan pauses. He almost wants to ask if Hyunbin is joking, but the look on the latter's face is serious.

“Oh,” Donghan begins, and then he breaks out in laughter. “Okay, whatever,” he says.

“Great,” Hyunbin replies, smiling.

Donghan just turns around and rolls his eyes. He'll convince Hyunbin, one day.


	8. smitten (sewoon + gwanghyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwanghyun does the family taxes. Sewoon isn't so pleased.

Sewoon wakes up with the morning sun in his face, the scent of sleep lingering around him, the soft touch of his blanket against his palms, and the warmth… _oh_ , he realizes. There’s the warmth of his blanket on top of him, but what’s distressing is that he’s missing the warmth of another person next to him.

When he opens his eyes, he realizes there’s something blocking the middle of his vision. And then when he slaps his hand over his face, the piece of paper underneath his fingers makes a crunching noise.

Sewoon slowly lifts it off of his face, and stares. It’s a blue sticky note. He turns it over, and reads the writing on it.

_If you’ve woken up because I’m not in bed, go back to sleep. I’m only up early because somebody told me they’d do the taxes earlier this year, but turns out that wasn’t true._

Sewoon laughs. Typical, he thinks. He’s still a bit sleepy, but he gets up anyways.

And sure enough, sitting at the dining table in their kitchen, is Gwanghyun, his back hunched over as he scribbles on a piece of paper, multiple other packets and papers spread all over the table in front of him.

“How am I supposed to eat breakfast if there’s paper all over the table?” Sewoon asks, leaning against the doorway.

Gwanghyun turns around to look at him. _Oh,_ Sewoon thinks. He’s wearing his glasses. He can’t help but smile, because Gwanghyun wearing his glasses makes him look like a little kid trying out his father’s spectacles and Sewoon thinks it’s positively adorable and now he wants to put Gwanghyun in an oversized sweater and pet him.

When Gwanghyun sees him smile, his automatic reaction is to scrunch up his face.

“Just go eat on the couch,” he says, before turning back to the tax form sitting in front of him.

“Is that any way to treat your husband?” Sewoon replies, with a grin still plastered on his lips.

Gwanghyun just lifts a hand and waves him off.

But Sewoon doesn’t relent. He sidles up to Gwanghyun, sliding his arms over Gwanghyun’s shoulders and resting his chin atop his head. “Why are you doing taxes, Gwanghyun?” he asks. “It’s Sunday, come and relax with me.”

“Didn’t you read the sticky note?” Gwanghyun grumbles. “You told me you’d get them done by the week before tax day, and _they’re still not done_. Sewoon, _they aren’t even started_.”

“So what?” Sewoon says, laughing. “It’s Sunday, Gwanghyun. Leave that stuff for the weekdays. Come on, we can go back to bed or watch TV or go out for a walk--”

Gwanghyun tilts his head up, looking at Sewoon above him, very positively annoyed. He raises a hand, and flicks Sewoon in the forehead. “Go away,” he growls.

Sewoon would kiss Gwanghyun’s nose, but he knows he’d probably end up with a hand imprint on his face, so he just complies, murmuring, “Fine” with a silly smile before taking his leave.

That still doesn’t mean that he doesn’t “bother” Gwanghyun throughout the day. He brings him coffee, sweetened with honey and milk, and cooks him lunch, a simple dish with rice and cabbage. Gwanghyun thanks him gruffly, drinks all of his coffee and picks at his food, and Sewoon will quietly brew him another pot. But along with being helpful, he also pokes fun at Gwanghyun throughout the day, just for his own shits and giggles because an annoyed Gwanghyun is an endearing Gwanghyun.

Sewoon walks up to the table and grabs the calculator sitting next to Gwanghyun. “Isn’t this the same one you’ve had since high school?” he asks.

Gwanghyun looks up. “Yeah,” he simply replies, before looking back down.

“I wonder,” Sewoon murmurs. He pushes the bottom of the calculator with his thumb, intending to slide it out from its lid.

Gwanghyun quickly lifts his head when he hears the sliding noise. “Don’t you dare, Sewoon,” he begins, narrowing his eyes.

Sewoon just simply slides the whole calculator out with one swift move, smiling at Gwanghyun. Gwanghyun makes a strained noise, something between a growl and a high-pitched whine.

“Ah,” Sewoon begins, “they’re still here.” He sets down the calculator, keeping the lid still in his hand. There’s a small pouch made of duct tape on the inside of the lid, and he reaches inside with two of his fingers, extracting a ripped piece of paper folded into a tiny square. He unfolds it, and as he does so he can hear Gwanghyun internally screaming.

“I remember these like it was yesterday,” Sewoon laughs. He holds up the slip of paper. On it is his name, penned in black marker, and in small writing beneath it, _Why are you so handsome?_ There’s red hearts drawn and colored in around the whole thing. “I remember how positively smitten y--”

“I regret marrying you,” Gwanghyun states. He holds up a hand and shoves Sewoon in the stomach. “Leave me alone,” he groans, his face a little bit pink.

Sewoon happily flounces away, but not before he grabs the calculator lid off of the table. He’ll save the rest of the slips of paper for a day when he’ll need them.

A few hours later, Sewoon picks up their cat, Mars, and sits him on the table in front of Gwanghyun. “Look at the belly,” Sewoon says. “Look how fluffy it is.” He holds the cat right beneath its armpits, so that it sits on its two hind legs.

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Gwanghyun says, slapping a hand on his face. “Sewoon, don’t get cat paws on the tax forms! Those things are actually _important_!”

“But the belly,” Sewoon protests, fake pouting. “Look how white and fluffy it is.” He pets Mars’ belly. The cat meows and squirms. If anything, it looks absolutely irritated.

“Stop bullying the cat,” Gwanghyun chides. “Why’d we even get a cat in the first place? I never said I liked cats.”

“We got him because he looks like you and even acts like you,” Sewoon simply replies. As if to prove his point, Mars starts growling.

Gwanghyun falls forward onto the table. “Take the cat off of the table,” he grumbles, his face still on top of a piece of paper, “before I throw my calculator at you.”

Sewoon laughs, lifting Mars off of the table and setting him on the ground before walking away.

Later that day, after barely picking at his dinner, Gwanghyun is still mulling over tax forms. Sewoon is extremely bored, having done nothing that day besides cook, watch TV, nap, and read. He gets an idea after laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity.

He retrieves a bowl of Gwanghyun’s favorite flavor of ice cream from the freezer. The latter doesn’t even look up at him as he moves around in the kitchen.

Sewoon returns to the couch, setting the bowl on the table next to him before going back into the kitchen.

“Gwanghyun,” he says, approaching Gwanghyun and sliding his arms over his shoulders. “Come on, take a break. You’ve been at this all day. You can always leave the rest for tomorrow.”

Gwanghyun sighs. “I’m almost done,” he replies. “And besides, both you and I work on the weekdays.” He lifts up a hand and waves. “Later.”

Sewoon smiles. He expected a response like this. He stands back a few paces off to the side of Gwanghyun. And then he wraps his hands around the ribbon tied to his right pinky and begins to tug.

“ _What_ ,” Gwanghyun starts, looking down at his left hand, “are you doing?”

Sewoon doesn’t reply. He just simply tugs even harder. Gwanghyun ignores him, but after an extremely harsh tug he nearly topples over onto the kitchen floor.

“Sewoon!” Gwanghyun exclaims. “Christ, Sewoon--”

Sewoon just laughs, turning around. “If you won’t get up willingly, I’ll just have to pull you!” he says. And with both hands on the ribbon, he begins to walk away.

Gwanghyun makes a strained noise. Sewoon doesn’t look back, but he hears the scraping of a chair’s wooden legs against the tile floor, and he smiles. He makes it back to the living room, sitting on the couch, and pulling the rest of the ribbon to him. Gwanghyun enters the room a second later, his left arm outstretched in front of him and an extremely annoyed expression on his face.

“Come here,” Sewoon says, laughing, and he pulls Gwanghyun to the spot on the couch right next to him. Gwanghyun doesn’t respond, but he begrudgingly sits down.

Sewoon tucks the ribbon between the elbow of his right arm and his torso to make sure Gwanghyun can’t run away. He leans over to the table next to him, grabbing the bowl of ice cream and taking a scoop with the spoon.

“Open,” he says, holding the spoon in front of Gwanghyun’s face.

“Oh, so now you’re _feeding_ me?” Gwanghyun exclaims incredulously. “Am I some _child_ \--”

Sewoon rolls his eyes, poking the spoon at Gwanghyun’s lips. “Just eat,” he says. “You probably have low blood sugar from stress and hardly eating anything the whole day.”

Gwanghyun sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before muttering, “Fine. But I’m going back to the taxes after eating.”

Sewoon chuckles. He turns on the TV, continuing to feed Gwanghyun. And when the bowl’s empty, he still holds tightly onto the ribbon, not letting Gwanghyun free.

“I really regret marrying you now,” Gwanghyun growls.

“Too bad,” Sewoon smiles, “you would’ve regardless.” He holds up the ribbon in his hands.

Gwanghyun turns his face away and huffs. Sewoon doesn’t let him leave his side for the rest of the night.


	9. bright bruises & bright smiles (keonhee + hwanung)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hwanung is a fashion designer, and Keonhee is his very clumsy model.

Hwanung is running around backstage, safety pins in his pockets and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He’s helping Hoorim adjust the fit of his shirt when he sees Keonhee out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a red ribbon wrapped around one of Keonhee’s legs, the rest of it falling to the floor next to him. He stares critically at the ground in front of him, as if there were an obstacle, before he lifts up the foot that has the ribbon twisted around it.

And Hwanung has no idea in the world how, but Keonhee promptly trips from that one movement. He falls forward, right into a plastic chair, topping both himself and the chair to the ground with a loud clatter.

Hwanung quickly finishes buttoning the back of Hoorim’s shirt before running over.

“Christ, Keonhee!” he exclaims. “What the hell, did you just trip over  _air_?”

Keonhee looks up at him, bewildered. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I tripped over the ribbon.”

Hwanung sighs, rubbing his face. “Keonhee, it’s been three months, and how many times must I tell you, _it’s not a real ribbon_ , and _no one but us can see it_.”

“I know! But still!” Keonhee replies, holding up his hands. “I felt it tug on my leg!”

Hwanung sighs again. He holds out his hand, and Keonhee instantly takes it. “Get up,” he says, pulling Keonhee up, “don’t sit on the floor too long, or you’ll ruin the clothing.” And then he looks down at the floor, where there’s visible skin-colored spots standing starkly against the black marley. He glances at Keonhee’s knees the next second, and yup, his bruises are peeking through. _Again_.

Hwanung tells Keonhee to wait, before running over to one of the vanities and glancing over the bottles sitting atop the wood. He finds what he’s looking for, and brings it back over to Keonhee, leaning down and pumping out some of the product before spreading it on Keonhee’s knees. “You rubbed off the foundation again,” he says.

“Sorry,” Keonhee replies, sheepishly.

“I don’t know how you still get hired to walk in shows,” Hwanung notes, a small laugh on his lips.

“I don’t know either,” Keonhee replies, smiling. He shrugs happily. When Hwanung finishes blending the foundation on his knees, he flounces away, and Hwanung watches him go, knobby knees and bent elbows and awkward stance and all.

By some magic, Keonhee never trips on the runway even though he trips all the time off the runway. Hwanung doesn’t know how, but he’s extremely grateful, because in all of his shows, Keonhee is the one that fits the clothing he designs the best; after all, Keonhee _is_ the mannequin Hwanung uses at home whenever he’s working on a new line.

After the show, Hwanung lets out a breath that he’d be holding the whole time. When he and Keonhee are at the after party, he approaches one of the tables of food as Keonhee wanders off to talk with some of his fellow model friends. Hwanung notices that there’s several platters of different varieties of cracker sandwiches -- they’re Keonhee’s favorite thing to eat whenever they’re at parties, so he grabs a plate and piles at least two of each cracker sandwich on it.

Keonhee sees what’s in his hand, his face positively lighting up. “Are those for me?” he asks, excitedly, bounding up to Hwanung.

“Well, yeah,” Hwanung replies, laughing.

And then an even sillier smile appears on Keonhee’s face. He laughs. “Why don’t you feed me one?”

“Oh, sure,” Hwanung instantly replies. He grabs a cracker sandwich and raises his hand, holding it up to Keonhee’s lips. “Say ‘ah’,” he says, giggling.

Keonhee looks confused for a moment. “I was just joking,” he states. Hwanung raises an eyebrow, his hand awkwardly suspended in the air. But the next second, a wide grin appears on Keonhee’s lips. “But I’ll eat it anyway!” he exclaims, and then bites into the cracker sandwich.

Well, both the cracker sandwich and Hwanung’s fingers. “Owie,” Hwanung winces, retracting and shaking his hand.

“Sorry!” Keonhee exclaims, grabbing onto Hwanung’s hand and nearly knocking the plate out of his other hand. A few crumbs fall out of his mouth as he awkwardly gapes at Hwanung.

Hwanung rolls his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, and flicks Keonhee on the nose as he laughs.

The next afternoon, Hwanung is measuring the fit of one of the new pieces he’s made for his upcoming line that Keonhee is currently wearing. He writes down how exactly much he needs to hem up the shirt, before telling Keonhee he’ll be back with a different shirt.

But when Hwanung returns, Keonhee has moved from the middle of the room to the full body mirror in the corner of the room. He’s angled to the side, got one hand on his hip, his back arched and leaning onto one knee as he throws his head up to the ceiling.

“What in the world are you doing?” Hwanung asks, as Keonhee changes poses.

Keonhee jumps and turns around, startled. He starts laughing when he sees the incredulous look on Hwanung’s face. “I don’t know,” he says, comically shrugging with a stupid grin on his lips. “These sleeves are quite wide.” He holds up his arms, his hands dangling down, before flapping them around. “So I was trying to work them.”

“ _Work_ them?” Hwanung asks. He rolls his eyes and laughs, approaching Keonhee. “Okay, whatever you say,” he replies. He holds up the shirt draped over his arm, and in order to make sure the tail of it doesn’t touch the floor, his hand is held up next to his chin.

“Hey,” Keonhee begins. “How’d that look on you?”

“What?” Hwanung asks.

“Why don’t you put it on?” Keonhee suggests.

Hwanung raises an eyebrow. “You do realize this is made for you, and you’re like, a head or more taller than me, right?”

Keonhee smiles. “Exactly.”

Hwanung huffs and laughs, but he wanders off and does what Keonhee suggested. He’s not in a time crunch to complete his new line, anyways.

When he walks back into the room and stands next to Keonhee in front of the mirror, both of them start giggling madly.

“You’re basically wearing a giant blue dress,” Keonhee says, through his laughter. He grabs onto Hwanung’s hands and makes a diamond shape with their joined arms. “Pose with me!” he exclaims, making a face to the mirror and arching his back.

Much to Hwanung’s chagrin, Keonhee begins to sing.

“Stop, drop ‘n tooch! Watch us move it! Our booty tooch, be raising roofs!” He whines the word “roofs”, his voice going up way higher than Hwanung would like to hear.

“Christ,” Hwanung says, rubbing his ears, “let me put on some actual music.”

Keonhee sticks his tongue out, but he continues posing as Hwanung walks over to turn on the playlist on his phone.

An hour later, both of them are still prancing around, except they’ve moved into the middle of the room. Keonhee booty bumps Hwanung, and Hwanung nearly falls over from the impact. But Keonhee catches him at the last second, and Hwanung laughs, leaning against him in a fit of giggles.

After the song ends, Keonhee has moved back to the front of the mirror. Hwanung comes to stand next to him, and they both stare at their reflections.

“Wow, we look like cats that’ve had too much fun with the yarn,” Hwanung notes. Sure enough, red ribbon is wrapped all around them, and when Hwanung stands with his arm touching Keonhee’s, they look like they’re engulfed together in one giant crimson knot. It folds over their feet, their legs, their arms, and their torsos, almost all the way up to their necks.

“You know,” Keonhee begins, and he lifts up his palm, looking at the ribbon that sits against his skin, “could you ever make a garment from this?”

Hwanung laughs. “Uhm,” he begins, a slightly bewildered look on his face, “I could always try, but y’know, that’s going to end up being way too risque.”

Keonhee’s eyes widen. If anything, at that moment, his face begins to redden when he looks at Hwanung.

Hwanung raises an eyebrow, confused.

Keonhee covers his face with both of his hands. “I didn’t mean that…” he murmurs. “I meant from a similar material… not…” And then he turns and walks away, his hands still over his face.

“Oh,” Hwanung murmurs. He stands there, dumbfounded for a moment. And then, he begins to realize why Keonhee reacted that way.

There’s the heat of blood rushing to his face, and Hwanung turns to look at himself in the mirror. He covers his cheeks with his palms, hoping the coolness of the silk sleeves calms the red on his face as he blinks rapidly, very flustered. He laughs shyly at himself.

But his attention is quickly diverted when he hears a crash, because Keonhee was stupid enough to not take his hands off of his face and walk into a table and knock down a lamp.


	10. the right photographer (woojin + haknyeon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woojin once told Haknyeon that he's unphotogenic.

Haknyeon follows the three boys in front of him hesitantly. He half walks, half runs with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, as if he were the chaperone of a rowdy bunch of kids. But he’s not at the back of the group because he refuses to engage in shenanigans. Rather, he’s unsure of what to do, what to say, how to act. He’s good friends with Euiwoong, who’s currently being tugged along, hand-in-hand with Hyeongseop, and he’s friendly acquaintances with Hyeongseop, who’s at the head of the group, and Woojin, who trails the other two with his camera held up to his face.

Sometimes Woojin will turn around, bringing his camera down to his chest, and hold it with one hand. He’ll gesture at Haknyeon, pointing him to stand or pose or do something with the other two. Or, he’ll just start walking backwards, telling Haknyeon to smile, and snap a photo.

Haknyeon feels a little weird, being the subject of photographs like this. It’s not that he’s camera shy, it’s more like he’s just never had people take photos of him, so he’s not sure what to do except stand up, spine straight, and grin. Woojin will giggle at him sometimes, saying the wind is blowing his hair in front of his eyes, or that he needn’t smile so forcefully. “Just be natural,” he says, with his lopsided grin.

And at the end of their excursion, when all four of them gather together, staring at the viewfinder on Woojin’s camera, Haknyeon sighs, tired.

Woojin looks up at him. “Haknyeon,” he begins, with a sheepish smile on his face, and Haknyeon can’t help but stare at his canine teeth that protrude out a little more than normal. “You’re so stiff.” He holds up his camera, the viewfinder facing Haknyeon. “You don’t, uh, look that great.”

And sure enough, there’s a photo of Haknyeon on the screen, looking at the camera, slightly turned so that three-fourths of his face is visible. He’s smiling intensely, all his teeth showing, but his smile is strained, almost a grimace. Not to mention that he looks like he’s posing for a prom photo with how erect his posture is.

“Hyung,” Euiwoong starts, giggling, “he’s right, you look terrible.”

Haknyeon rolls his eyes. He decides that being the subject of photos is so not his thing. He’ll never be anything that requires him to be filmed, like a model or an actor or whatever.

The following Monday, when he walks into his physics class, his teacher is handing out playing cards. Haknyeon instantly recognizes what his teacher is doing; because one school quarter has now passed, they’re reshuffling their seating arrangements.

The card he receives is a jack of hearts. He walks over to the hearts section of the classroom. And lo and behold, there’s already another person sitting in the desk right behind where his new seat is.

“Hi,” he says, softly.

Woojin looks up. “Hi,” he replies, smiling amiably.

Haknyeon takes a seat at his desk. It’s right next to the window, and Woojin is currently staring out of it. Haknyeon begins to as well, watching the grass that descends down the hill ruffle in the wind.

Although the bell has already rung, their teacher is sitting at his desk, doing something on his computer as the kids chatter. Out of curiosity, Haknyeon asks, “How’d you get into photography?”

“Hmm?” Woojin replies, suddenly.

“Yeah,” Haknyeon murmurs, “how’d you get into photography? You’re a pretty good photographer.”

“Oh,” Woojin replies, quietly. He turns his head back, looking at Haknyeon, who returns his gaze. “Well, I started when I was a kid,” he begins, “my dad gave me his really old digital camera to play around.” He smiles, softly. “It was a pretty old thing. Like, four megapixels.”

Haknyeon stares, confused.

Woojin laughs. “That means it’s got really shitty photo quality.”

“Oh,” Haknyeon murmurs. He nods.

“So yeah,” Woojin continues, “I ran around with it and took photos of everything. It was just fun for me back then, but after I got really into it I started studying technique and whatnot. Like, how to work with lighting, colors, and movement.”

“That sounds hard,” Haknyeon says.

Woojin looks out the window, and points to something outside. “A lot about being a good photographer isn’t so much skill. Of course, that’s a huge factor, but good photographers always start out from a strong source of inspiration.”

Haknyeon turns his head. He curiously follows where Woojin is pointing, but he sees nothing but the little whirlwinds of dirt from the school’s baseball field being picked up by the wind.

“Look at those little tornadoes and swirls that the wind makes with the dirt,” Woojin notes. “Most people would just regard it as dirt. But I could use that as inspiration.”

“...What?” Haknyeon asks, incredulously. “ _Dirt_?”

Woojin nods firmly. “Because those patterns the wind creates with it are temporary. Depending on what angle you shot an image from, depending on how the lighting is, those patterns could be very beautiful. Yet, they’re temporary, ephemeral if you think about it. They only last for less than a second before they disappear.” And then he turns back to Haknyeon. “I like photography because I get to capture that beauty before it’s gone.”

Haknyeon meets Woojin’s gaze slowly. “That makes sense,” he says, quietly. “I don’t understand much about feeling that way, but I can see why it appeals to you.”

Woojin smiles, serenely. “Do you have any hobbies that you really like?”

A wide grin breaks across Haknyeon’s lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I like to cook.”

“Really?” Woojin raises an eyebrow, curious. There’s a surprised look on his face. “What kind of foods do you like to cook?”

Haknyeon shrugs. “Everything, really,” he murmurs. “It’s also my job. My family owns a restaurant that’s right next to our apartment.”

“Oh, cool,” Woojin replies. He pauses, before asking, “Can I come and visit one day?”

Haknyeon smiles. “Sure.”

The following week, when Haknyeon looks up from his spot behind the counter at his family’s restaurant as the bell on their door rings, he smiles when he recognizes who’s just entered. “Hi, welcome,” he greets.

“Hey,” Woojin replies, returning his smile and waving. He walks up to Haknyeon, looking up at the hanging posters above Haknyeon’s head that list all of the dishes available and their prices. He scrunches his eyebrows the next second, as if confused. But when he looks at Haknyeon, his expression relaxes, and if anything, he looks absolutely fascinated.

“‘ _Momguk_ ’?” he asks, incredulously. “What’s what?”

“Gulfweed soup,” Haknyeon replies, shortly.

Woojin looks even more confused.

“It’s like seaweed, but it’s brown and has branches like a tree.”

“Oh,” Woojin murmurs. “What’s ‘ _jarihoe_ ’? And what’s in the ‘ _gusal_ soup’?”

Haknyeon laughs, a little exasperated. “ _j_ _arihoe_ is raw damselfish, which is a porgie fish. _Gusal_ soup is -- have you ever heard of _seonggeguk_?”

Woojin shakes his head. He pauses, thinking. “Maybe like, once. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Sea urchin soup,” Haknyeon replies, simply.

Woojin’s face scrunches, but he smiles the second after. “Okay, I’ll have that.”

As Haknyeon types in his order, he murmurs, “I’ve never heard of most of these dishes.”

Haknyeon smiles, a small laugh tumbling out of his lips. “These are all Jeju specialties,” he explains. “My family is from there, and a lot of the stuff we make is from family recipes.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Woojin replies, before he digs around in his pocket for money. And then when Haknyeon turns around with the intent of going into the kitchen to prepare Woojin’s food, Woojin asks, “Hey, is it possible if I could watch?”

Haknyeon looks at him oddly. “Why?” he asks. “I mean, I don’t mind, but why?”

“I know what a sea urchin is, but I don’t know what the hell sea urchin soup is supposed to look like,” Woojin replies, with a laugh. “There’s not going to be spikes in my soup, right?”

Haknyeon shakes his head, smiling. “No,” he says. “You can come and watch, but stay near the doorway and don’t touch anything, because contamination.”

So that’s how Woojin ends up leaning against the counter next to the doorway to the kitchen, watching Haknyeon move around with an acute fascination. “Your hands move so fast,” he says, as Haknyeon is chopping slices of sea urchin flesh. And then, he adds, when Haknyeon begins to wrap the slices in seaweed, “You do that so neatly too.”

Haknyeon shrugs. “Practice,” he says. “I’ve been doing this for years.” He chuckles, and as he moves back and forth from the counter in front of him and the stove behind him, dumping the meat into a pot of boiling water, he begins to narrate his actions, as if he were on a cooking show.

When he presents the finished bowl of soup proudly to Woojin, Woojin gasps. “This is huge!” he exclaims, excitedly, “And it’s so… pretty.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Haknyeon replies, smiling contentedly. “Enjoy your food.”

As he’s about to turn around, Woojin pulls out his camera. Haknyeon hears the shutter click, and he curiously asks, “Why are you taking a photo?”

Woojin looks up. “It’s pretty,” he explains, simply. “I want to take a photo of it before I ruin it.” And then he flips his camera around, showing Haknyeon.

“Wow,” Haknyeon murmurs. The photo on the screen is definitely the soup, but simultaneously it looks like something entirely different, something new. All the colors of the dish look like they’ve been painted. They’re vivid, bright, even though the bowl itself and the table in the background isn’t. It’s colorful, the yellow of the meat, the several shades of green of the seaweed, and the browns of the abalone that was added all showing up clearly in the photo.

“That’s so aesthetic,” Haknyeon says, awed.

Woojin smiles at him, proudly.

Several minutes later, as he’s chewing happily on his food, he swallows, before calling Haknyeon over.

“What is it?” Haknyeon asks.

“Hmm,” Woojin hums. For a moment, Haknyeon is worried there might be something wrong with the food, but Woojin looks as content as ever. “This Saturday,” Woojin begins, “would you like to come out and take photos with me? If you don’t have to work, that is.”

“Oh,” Haknyeon murmurs. “Sure.” And then an amused smile appears on his lips. “Afterwards, we can come back here and you can try something out from the menu.”

Woojin grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

When the two wander around outside the following Saturday, the sky up ahead is a light blue with only a few wisps of clouds here and there. There’s no visible sun outside, but the environment is light and clear, the temperature just slightly warm. They walk together up and down the streets slowly, casually chatting as Woojin takes photos of their surroundings. He doesn’t try to take photos of Haknyeon, which Haknyeon doesn’t mind at all. Rather, he’s enjoying watching Woojin work his magic, completely fascinated by how the boy finds interest in things as mundane as street trash and weeds.

Woojin notices his curiosity, and when he takes a photo of a dented water bottle lying in front of them, he shows the image to Haknyeon, who promptly notes that in the photo, the bottle looks so much more… interesting.

Woojin laughs, returning back to his live viewfinder. He points the lens at the bottle and begins pressing buttons, showing Haknyeon how he manipulates contrast, shadows, highlights, and more in order to bend the image that appears, making the lines and the folds and the curves of the bottle stand out so much more against the gray of the sidewalk.

Haknyeon remains intrigued for the rest of the time. And when the sky begins to fall as it’s nearing evening, they reach the park near Haknyeon’s family’s restaurant, and both promptly collapse down on the grass, their energies rather drained.

The grass around them, it’s uncut and overgrown, waving in the wind like a sea of green. Haknyeon watches it curiously, sometimes his gaze switching up above him to the darkening gray-blue of the sky, sometimes glancing next to him at Woojin.

Woojin nearly falls asleep, his eyes half-lidded, but Haknyeon suddenly asks him, “How in the world do you make things most people would find ugly or just plainly ignore look so… different and amazing? Like that water bottle back there. Or, how do you even get the idea?”

Woojin laughs, drowsy and relaxed, at his question. “It’s all in the form of being an artist,” he replies, simply. “You create something beautiful out of something that most people wouldn’t find beautiful.” He sighs, before adding, “Think of your cooking as an art. A lot of people might not find food to be beautiful, rather very plain and ordinary, but chefs are able to make food look beautiful. Like your soup. That’s why I took a photo.”

“Oh,” Haknyeon murmurs. “Oh, thank you,” he adds, a little bit sheepishly. “I’m glad you thought it looked nice.” He turns his head and looks at Woojin next to him, who slowly returns his stare. “You know,” Haknyeon begins, quietly, “you told me that I was unphotogenic, that I look kinda bad on camera. Is there any way you’d be able to teach me how to look better in photos?”

Woojin smiles softly at him, silent. “You don’t need me to teach you,” he says, after a moment. “You just need to get used to it.”

Haknyeon pauses, a confused smile on his face.

Woojin suddenly sits up. “Don’t move a single muscle,” he says, “stay absolutely still.” He reaches over to his other side and grabs his camera, lifting it up to his face. Haknyeon hears the shutter click, and Woojin leans back down, resting on his elbows as he turns the viewfinder of his camera back to Haknyeon.

“See?” Woojin asks, a small smile on his lips.

It’s a photo of Haknyeon, laying there with his head turned, the grass against his cheek and his neck. He’s smiling, softly, a little bit confused, but his expression is quiet, serene, calm. Natural.

“Artists create beautiful things out of things that most people wouldn’t find beautiful, but our best pieces of work are when we manipulate the beauty already inside an object and showcase it to the world,” Woojin says. And then he sits back up, putting his camera back in its previous spot. He lays back down, looking at Haknyeon with his head slightly tilted. “So, Haknyeon, you’re not unphotogenic. You just need to find the right photographer to work with the type of beauty you already have.”

Haknyeon pauses, swallowing. For some reason, he feels slightly nervous, but it’s the good kind of nervous. The kind of nervous that also signifies that there’s something in the future. Something amazing.

Woojin blinks slowly at him. Relaxed, still a little bit sleepy.

And then a wide grin breaks across Haknyeon’s lips. “I think I’ve already found him,” he states, quietly. When Woojin looks at him, confused, he adds, “Will you be that person for me?”

Woojin breaks out in a soft bought of laughter, his mouth wide and his canine teeth protruding as he laughs. “Sure,” he agrees.

As they lay on their sides, looking at each other, laughing and smiling and enjoying the day, their hands are placed right next to each other on the grass, which threads its way between their fingers.

A vibrant red rests against the green of the grass, running its way between their fingers as well, but also twisting over their knuckles and their wrists, before stopping its winding path, tied to Haknyeon’s left pinky, the other end ending in a knot at the base of Woojin’s right pinky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you may not be familiar with my other works, this is a short side-story with the two side characters from [a clear color (and a sixth sense)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11599377).


	11. runner (yongguk + shihyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shihyun runs by Yongguk's window every day.

There’s always this boy--or, well, Yongguk isn’t exactly sure if he’s a boy or a man--that runs back and forth across the sidewalk on the street that Yongguk works at. He’ll sit in his little cubicle, which is right next to the window, and then he’ll see a flash of black and blue and red fly past the corner of his eye. Sometimes he’ll stand up and lean forward and stare out his window, trying to catch a glimpse of that flash as he disappears down the street.

But Yongguk never catches him. Even when he’s running back down the street in the opposite direction, Yongguk is always caught off guard.

His heart races just as fast as the boy’s steps when he sees him passing by the window again, no matter how many times the boy runs up and down the street in front of Yongguk.

Each and every time, Yongguk is always thrown for a loop when he sees the trail of red following the boy. He runs so fast that the ribbon suspends itself in the air for a bare second before slowly floating to the ground. It’s as if he were holding a paintbrush dipped in scarlet paint and were running it along a wall as he ran.

And then Yongguk will look at his own left hand, at his own ribbon. He’s never exactly seen the boy when he’s not running, so initially he always wonders, _Is he really my soulmate?_

But he reminds himself that he wouldn’t be able to see the boy’s ribbon in the first place if he weren’t. If it even is his red ribbon. Yongguk can’t even tell.

He always tells himself that he’ll find the boy one day. Ask him about why he runs up and down the street multiple times per day. Ask him about how his day is going. What his name is, how old he is, what he does for a living.

But especially, what his personality is like.

Who runs up and down the street all the time? Yongguk doesn’t know, but needless to say, he’s oddly intrigued.

He never finds the boy when he goes out walking on his lunch break. He never finds him before or after work, and his job doesn’t allow him to leave the office otherwise.

And then, one day, he leaves his work early. It’s a Friday right before the holidays, and Yongguk is one of the last ones left inside in the building, so he figures he might as well just leave.

The sky up ahead is varied shades of gray with the thick clouds rolling in. There’s a storm coming, it seems -- the impending hanging of moisture in the air, a little thick and tacky and warm against the skin, the bursts of wind that fly past his face and ruffle his hair, and the slightly dewy scent of rain all indicate so.

But Yongguk holds his breath. He hopes he can make it home before the rain starts.

He hurries down the street, following the sidewalk that leads outside the district, towards one of the bridges. Yongguk just has to make it over, walk a few minutes more, and he’ll be at his apartment.

When he’s almost at the bridge, he watches the ribbon tied to his hand run in front of him, getting shorter with each step he takes. He expects it to run all the way across the bridge, to some place unknown to him, but to his surprise, he sees it stop in the distance.

Yongguk hurries his steps.

And when he’s standing at the edge of the bridge, with all the cars on the road rushing by him, muddling into a puddle of background noise behind his senses and the rush of wind in his ears and against his skin, he stops.

He recognizes who it is. Of course he would. He just didn’t expect him to be here.

He looks the same as always. A blue plaid flannel, sleeves a little too long so that the cloth piles up at where his wrists are bent, hands resting atop the bridge’s fence. Black hair flying in the wind, side profile round and soft. Ratted jeans that are rolled up at his ankles, worn sneakers with laces that are too long.

Yongguk slowly walks up to him. The red ribbon between them gets shorter and shorter, until it’s only a few meters long.

The boy is sitting atop the concrete fence, face turned out towards the horizon, towards the river stretching in front of him, his feet waving back and forth in the air.

Yongguk’s first thought was, _Isn’t that dangerous?_ He’s instantly put a little bit on edge, but he tries his best to remain as neutral as possible.

“Hello,” he says.

The boy slowly turns his head.

And then when Yongguk sees his face clearly for the first time, he’s taken aback.

Yes, he was expecting someone who looked young. But this person, the type of young he looks… it isn’t just solely from age, Yongguk thinks. Maybe it’s his soul too.

The boy’s features are young. Round face, plumper cheeks, large eyes. They blink at him with curiosity. _Soft_ is the first thing Yongguk thinks. _Beautiful_ is his next thought.

“Hi,” the boy replies. If he noticed the red ribbon between him and Yongguk--he _had_ to, Yongguk thinks--then he either didn’t care or wasn’t surprised.

“What’s your name?” Yongguk asks.

“Kim Shihyun,” the boy replies, simply.

 _Ah_ , Yongguk thinks, his name fits his face.

“What’s yours?” the boy asks.

“Jin Longguo,” Yongguk replies, “although my Korean name is Kim Yongguk.”

“Oh, you’re Chinese?” Shihyun asks.

Yongguk nods.

“Nice,” Shihyun hums, turning back to stare out at the river.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” Yongguk is aware Shihyun looks relatively young, but he always thought the boy was something like eighteen or nineteen.

“Twenty-four,” Shihyun replies, casually.

Yongguk stares incredulously. Shihyun notices his silence, and returns his gaze.

The moment after, he starts laughing, throwing his head back up into the air, the wind blowing the strands of hair over his lips.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he says. “How old are you?”

“...Twenty-six,” Yongguk replies, after a pause.

Shihyun hums as a response, his legs swinging back and forth contentedly.

“I always see you running up and down the street,” Yongguk notes. He turns, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his suit pants, and stares out at the river with Shihyun. “I’ve always wondered, why do you do that?”

“Well,” Shihyun begins, “why not?”

“...Huh?” Yongguk replies.

“There’s so many places to go,” Shihyun continues, “so many things to see, too. Running just saves time, allows me to do all the things and see all the things that I want to.”

“Isn’t that tiring?” Yongguk states. “I always thought you ran because it was part of your job, not because you wanted to.”

“It is,” Shihyun hums. “Well, sort of. I work in a dog kennel. If I can’t run, then I can’t keep up with those little rascals.” He laughs. The sound is airy, light, relaxed.

“Oh,” Yongguk murmurs.

“But I enjoy running,” Shihyun adds. “I like running fast. I like the feeling of the air blowing in my face. I like how it feels like your surroundings are just disappearing around you when you run really fast.” He looks at Yongguk. “Do you have anything you really like to do? Like how I really like to run.”

Yongguk shakes his head. “Not really,” he murmurs. “My life is pretty routine. I walk to work in the mornings, walk back home, eat dinner, watch some TV, and then go to bed.”

Shihyun laughs. “Yeah, sitting in your cubicle all day can’t be very fun, right?”

Yongguk raises his eyebrows.

Shihyun smiles at his reaction. “Just like you notice me running by your window every day, I notice you staring outside and trying to find me.” He turns back to look in front of him. “My life is pretty routine too. I don’t get a lot of chances to go and explore things, even though I wish I could. So instead, I think a lot about things.” He looks down at his feet, which are swinging back and forth. “You know,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“What would happen if I jumped down into the river?”

“ _What_?” Yongguk exclaims.

Shihyun laughs at his panicked expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not contemplating suicide or anything like that,” he assures. “Don’t you just ever wonder what would happen? Or like, if you did something, what it would feel like?” He goes back to staring at the waters below him. “I’ve never jumped into a body of water from so high,” he murmurs. “What would it feel like?”

Yongguk rests his palms on the fence and looks over. “Probably cold and painful,” he says, with a short laugh. “But please, don’t do it.”

Shihyun smiles at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he reassures. “I do think about these things, but I’m quite aware of the boundary between adventurous and stupid.” He hums. “Don’t you ever think about these things too, Yongguk-hyung?”

Yongguk shakes his head. “Not really,” he replies. “I’m not really that type of person.” He laughs. “I mean, sure, I have to think logically a lot for my job, but that’s not really anything terribly out-there and bold.”

Shihyun laughs, too. He looks at Yongguk, his head slightly tilted. Half of his face is shielded by his hair, and he brushes it back with one of his hands, tucking it behind his ear. “Not even when you were a kid?” he asks. “I used to--and still do--wonder about about things that most people never get to experience. Like, what does being in space feel like? What does the air high up in the sky feel like? What does it feel like to set foot on the moon? Do you feel yourself being lighter, or is it only noticeable when you stand on a scale?” He sighs, before adding, “and then my favorite question--which is still my favorite--was, ‘What would jumping into a black hole feel like?’”

Yongguk furrows his eyebrows. “Wow,” he comments. “That’s a lot to consider. For one, you have to think about the question of what a black hole is. Like, it’s a spot in the fabric of space that’s warped and collapsed because of something extremely dense, causing the gravity felt there to be extreme. And there’s also the theory that time itself basically folds in with it because essentially it’s like the world and reality is folding -- reality is splitting in two as well. So, many people think you’d be torn apart to pieces on the spot. But then, there’s also the theory that you would just survive. And then, I don’t know what happens next.”

Shihyun stares at him oddly, silent for several seconds. And then a grin breaks across his face. “See?” he says. “You do think about these things.”

Yongguk laughs, shaking his head. “No,” he replies, “I swear, I just read it somewhere.”

Shihyun hums. “Well, whatever the case,” he begins, “you know much more about a black hole than I do, even though I probably spend way more time thinking about it than you do.” He turns his head, looking up at the sky. “Anyways,” he murmurs, “that’s one of the things on my list of things that I’ve always wanted to do. It’ll remain uncrossed forever, though, which is disappointing, but I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, you have a bucket list?” Yongguk asks.

Shihyun nods. “If you’d call it that,” he says.

“What’s on it?”

Shihyun pauses, thinking for a moment. The second after, he begins listing things, and Yongguk listens intently. There’s things that many people would have on their list, such as going skydiving or visiting Las Vegas or meeting their favorite music artist. There’s things that Yongguk never even thought of before, like exploring a cave, swimming with sharks (he knows that sharks don’t generally attack people, but nonetheless he’s still alarmed when Shihyun mentions it), driving a submarine, and oddly enough, walking in a fashion show.

But then Shihyun pauses after listing quite a few items. Yongguk hums, thinking he’s probably done with his list. Quite a wild ride, Yongguk thinks. He briefly wonders what his experience will be when Shihyun goes off and marks those things off one-by-one.

Unexpectedly, a wide grin breaks across Shihyun’s lips, and he begins laughing quietly, his laughter almost giggle-like.

“What?” Yongguk asks.

“Well,” Shihyun begins, his voice airy and wispy, “there was one thing that I was going to add, but then I realized I’ve already crossed it off.”

“Oh?” Yongguk murmurs, raising an eyebrow. “What might that be?”

Shihyun tilts his head and smiles sweetly. “Meeting you,” he says, simply.

Yongguk pauses. And then he begins laughing. “Why?” he asks, “Why would that be on your bucket list? We’re destined to meet anyways.”

Shihyun sighs contentedly, turning back to stare at the sky. “Yes,” he notes, “but the point of a bucket list is a list of things that you want to do in the future, right?” And then he turns at looks at Yongguk again. “I knew we were going to meet one day, but there’s also the fact that I _wanted_ to meet you.”

“Why didn’t you come and say hi, then?” Yongguk asks.

“I could ask the same about you,” Shihyun replies, shrugging.

Yongguk sighs. “I could never find you during my break and before and after work.” He smiles, softly. “Except for today.”

Shihyun chuckles at his statement. “Yes,” he agrees, “except for today. Today is a great day, don’t you agree?”

Yongguk looks up at the sky. “There’s a storm coming, though,” he points out.

Shihyun nods. “Yes,” he notes, “but the sky has been like that for a while, right? It just might simply be the day.” He sighs, and adds, “But don’t you think it’s beautiful? All the depths and shadows from the clouds.”

“I suppose,” Yongguk replies, humming.

“Today is a beautiful day to meet,” Shihyun murmurs. “I’m glad I met you today.”

Yongguk smiles. “Me too.”


	12. juicy couture (kenta + eunki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to Kenta's chagrin, Eunki likes his velour.

He and Seongwoo aren’t even halfway down the hall, but Kenta can already feel the vibrations of the bass from the song playing in the studio pounding his head and the floor beneath him. “Do you guys always play music this loud?” he asks, wincing slightly.

Seongwoo shrugs. “Don’t know,” he replies, casually.

“...You don’t know?” Kenta asks, confused.

Seongwoo shrugs again. He doesn’t even take the lollipop out of his mouth when he speaks. “I don’t go often enough to take notice,” he states.

Kenta snorts. “Really,” he says, and then laughs, “but you’re the vice president of the club! What kind of vice president doesn’t go to his own club?”

Seongwoo raises a hand and jabs his thumb at himself. “This vice president,” he replies, grinning.

Kenta rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He and Seongwoo continue down the hallway. As they get closer, the actual music becomes clearer and clearer to him, instead of just the bass of the song vibrating their surroundings. He can’t exactly hear the lyrics, but the tune sounds very familiar to him.

And then when Seongwoo pulls open the door to the studio and ushers him inside, Kenta is blasted in the face with music.

“ _Move it to the side, your butt, left and right…_ ”

There’s a giant crowd of students inside the studio. They all seem to be gathered in a rather loose ring, some of them off in the corners while others hang around closer to the middle of the room. But all of their attentions are directed at one person in the center.

“ _Wiggle wiggle, with more feeling…_ ”

Kenta squints.

There’s a guy in the center, dancing. His back is to Kenta, one of his knees bent, toe poised on the dancefloor. But his head is turned in Kenta’s direction, as if he were looking over his shoulder. Kenta’s eyes widen as he realizes which song and which choreography the guy is dancing to. And then for a moment, Kenta swears they make eye contact. The guy smirks, and Kenta narrows his eyes.

“ _Round and round, carefully…_ ”

Well, Kenta doesn’t exactly know where he should stare. He also doesn’t know if he should frown or he should be shocked or he should be cheering, because at the moment, there’s a whole bunch of emotions stuck inside his head and all in all, he’s just very confused.

This guy’s a good dancer, his moves are smooth and sharp when needed, he’s rather handsome, he makes good facial expressions to match the sultriness of the song. But what really gets Kenta is not any of that, rather, it’s what the guy is wearing.

“ _Shake it, shake it_ …”

He sees hot pink velour. He sees a hood, a zipper, long sleeves. He sees material that clings tightly onto the guy’s legs and rear, only to flare out and loosely fly around from his knees and downward as he moves around.

Kenta only just realizes he’s been going through a reel of weird facial expressions when Seongwoo nudges him and asks him what the hell is going on with his face.

And then when Kenta replies that he doesn’t know and turns back to look at the guy, he swears he sees the guy smile knowingly at him.

“ _Move it to the side, your butt, left and right…_ ”

He knows which part in the choreography the song is approaching. And when the guy changes his position, he expects him to slide down and squat facing his left, which is where him and Seongwoo are standing. But instead, the guy squats down facing his right, so that his back and his rear are facing Kenta.

And then Kenta is completely thrown for a loop.

In golden rhinestones, right over the ass of his hot pink velour sweatpants, is written the word “JUICY” in large, fancy lettering.

Kenta's face morphs into something along the lines of “what the fuck” as the guy begins to booty pop, all while glancing over his shoulder at Kenta and smiling slyly. He watches the scene, completely and utterly stuck in a daze, unable to take his eyes off. The guy goes through the rest of the song, and when he hits the second chorus, Kenta prepares himself for another round of booty popping with the word “JUICY” glaring in front of his eyeballs, but instead, the guy gets on his hands and knees before seductively sliding down on the floor in front of him, his back arched and his arms outstretched.

The students around them begin to cheer and whistle, some clapping and some laughing, as the guy rests the side of his face on the floor, bends his knees in a diamond shape, and begins to booty pop from that position.

Seongwoo just bursts into a fit of raucous laughter right then and there, and Kenta looks at him, narrowing his eyes. “Does this happen on a regular basis too?” he asks, critically.

And as expected, Seongwoo replies, “Don’t know.” However, he also adds, “But that’s our Eunki for sure. He likes his Juicy Couture.”

Kenta turns his face back to the scene in front of him. _Eunki. Huh_ , he thinks.

Eunki finishes the rest of the choreography smoothly, and when the music stops, he gets a loud round of applause with some wolf-whistles thrown in. Kenta hesitantly lifts up his hands and claps as well, unsure of what he’s thinking at the moment. He expects Eunki to go and stand or sit off to the side with his friends, but instead, he motions at the girl crouched in the corner next to the music player.

“Hey, Chungha,” he begins, “put me on another one.”

“Really?” Chungha replies, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure, Eunki?” she asks. “Don’t you want to go sit down and take a break?”

And then Kenta swears he sees Eunki’s gaze briefly flit to him before he answers. “Nah,” he replies, casually, “let me do one more.”

Chungha shrugs, murmuring, “Alright,” before fiddling with the buttons on the player.

Eunki stands in the middle, staring at the ground, waiting for the music to play. And a few seconds later, sound begins to filter through the speakers within the studio. Kenta sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. Great. Another sexy song for Eunki and his “JUICY” ass to dance to.

Eunki smiles, sending two thumbs up to Chungha, who just returns his smile with a wink.

“ _Ladies up in here tonight_ …”

Kenta watches Eunki stand still in his starting pose.

“ _I never really knew that she could dance like this…_ ”

And then Eunki throws his head up, raises himself on his toes, his elbows bent and hands held at his side, and begins to twist his torso. He moves so fast that the loose velour at his ankles spin in the air around him, almost like a skirt at the bottom of his legs.

“ _So be wise, and keep on reading the signs of my body..._ ”

Eunki move out one foot behind him, arching his back, and begins to slide, the movement so slow and controlled.

“ _And, I’m on tonight, you know my hips don’t lie, and I’m starting to feel it’s right…_ ”

When the music changes slightly, he suddenly pulls himself up, moving his hips back and forth to the beat. The students all around him cheer, whooping and laughing and whistling. Eunki seems to be bathing in the attention, a sultry grin on his face as he moves about, his feet a blur, his hips a blur, and his arms and elbows creating angles and shapes along with the music. The style of his dancing is rather elegant, yet still somehow sensual, and it reminds Kenta of the ballroom dancing classes he took when he was younger.

“ _Oh boy, I can see your body moving…_ ”

Eunki pauses just briefly in his movements, one hand cocked on his hip, the other one held out above his shoulder.

“ _I don’t, I don’t really know what I’m doing_ …”

Yup, that describes Kenta right now, because he’s just stepped into Eunki’s little dance ring and sidled up behind him. He grabs Eunki’s outstretched hand and places his other palm on the hand resting on Eunki’s hip. Eunki glances at him and smiles knowingly.

And then, the very next second, Eunki begins to shake his hips back and forth to the music again, one hand still up. Kenta taps the fingers on Eunki’s palm along with his movements.

Before Kenta realizes it, he’s twirling Eunki with their joined hands, twirling him back up against his chest, moving his feet and shuffling his toes and sliding his heels along to the music, steps perfectly aligned with Eunki’s. He sometimes switches which hand is on Eunki’s hip, circling round and round as they separate and then pull each other back in, twisting as they travel across the floor. Eunki even lets him dip him, his neck hanging back and head nearly touching the floor, and then Kenta pulls him right back up into his arms before they separate and whirl around, only to meet each other’s hands again.

“ _No fighting, no fighting_ …”

Kenta doesn’t even realize it’s the end of the song until Eunki slows down his movements gracefully, his back against Kenta’s torso, head tilted and gaze off to the side as one of his hands rests on the side of Kenta’s neck.

They both stand there, breathing hard in their ending pose. And once the music finally ends, there’s an even louder round of applause, and an even wider variety of excitement from the students all around them. Kenta sees them clapping harshly, some with their hands cupped around their lips as they cheer, some staring down at their phone screens, rewatching the recording they just took.

“Man,” Eunki breathes out, letting his position fall as he turns around, “where in the world did you learn to dance like that?”

“I took waltzing classes before,” Kenta replies, casually, with a shrug.

“Alright,” Eunki laughs, “if you say so.” He turns around, and wanders off into a crowd of his friends. Kenta watches him become submerged around other people before Seongwoo approaches him and ushers him back off to the side of the studio.

Eunki comes up to him later and demands that Kenta tell the truth. When Kenta replies that he has no clue what he’s talking about, Eunki says, with his palms resting on his hips, “You’ve got to have at least had classes in tango or salsa or flamenco or something, right?”

Kenta just shakes his head. “Just waltz,” he replies. And then Eunki laughs, tells him to meet him in the studio tomorrow afternoon, and adds that Kenta should bring his ballroom dancing shoes.

The next day, Eunki puts _La Cura_ on the music player, grabs Kenta’s hands, and begins to twist, pointing out which specific salsa moves he’s doing. And Kenta follows him, follows him completely naturally, putting variations on the moves Eunki shows him. Something similar, but not the same, because he’s dancing the male role, but not something far-off because he has to match the music -- but most importantly, match Eunki.

Eunki is wearing yet another Juicy Couture velour tracksuit, much to Kenta’s chagrin. This time, it’s a royal blue color, and the color of the rhinestones of the “JUICY” are a bright, gleaming silver.

Kenta just sighs, and continues moving along with the music and Eunki. Eunki begins to speak as they dance.

“You’re not bad at this at all,” he says, as he twirls back into Kenta’s embrace.

“You should be the one teaching instead,” he laughs, as he hooks his leg around Kenta’s knee and slides himself to the other side of his partner.

“Hey, wanna go out on a date?” he asks, as Kenta dips him down.

Kenta promptly drops him.

“Oh _fuck_!” Kenta exclaims, both because he’s entirely caught off-guard at what Eunki just said and because he just dropped Eunki on the ground. “Wait, did I hear that right?”

Eunki, still laying on the ground, furrows his brows. “Well, yeah, you’re not the one who was just dropped on his head,” he laughs, wincing slightly.

“S-Sorry,” Kenta stutters, extending a hand out towards Eunki, who graciously takes it and pulls himself back up. “Uh, sure, yeah, I’ll go on a date with you,” he hastily adds, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and looking away.

“Great,” Eunki replies, grinning.

“Um,” Kenta begins, hesitantly, gaze still averted. “Ah, Eunki, are you…” he trails off.

Eunki tilts his head curiously. “What?”

“Are you going to wear another Juicy Couture tracksuit to our date?”

Eunki pauses for a moment, completely silent. Kenta looks up, expecting some kind of bad reaction, but he doesn’t really get one.

Instead, a smirk slowly appears on Eunki’s lips. “Only if you want me to,” he replies, slyly.

Kenta doesn’t give him an answer.

And then, the next day, when Kenta sees him walking up to his spot at the table right outside a coffee shop, he sighs, because Eunki is wearing yet _another_ Juicy Couture velour tracksuit.

This time, it’s a bright and vivid red, just like the ribbon that falls from his hand as he walks, his arms swinging casually at his sides. Kenta glances at the ribbon on his own hand, staring at the prettiness of it carefully. And when he looks up, Eunki has already taken a seat across from him.

“It’s such a nice color, isn’t it?” Eunki asks, glancing at Kenta’s hand. And then he holds up his own, placing it right next to Kenta’s, their pinkies aligned.

Kenta hums in agreement, staring at their hands poised next to each other. And then he looks at Eunki’s face and smiles. “You know, when I first saw you, I thought hot pink looked pretty great on you, but red is even better,” he notes.

“Oh, really?” Eunki replies, nonchalantly. He smirks the second after. “Thanks. But I thought you were simply staring at the ‘JUICY’ on my ass.”

Kenta’s nose scrunches. “Is that the only reason why you have all of these tracksuits?”

Eunki laughs and nods. “Well, yeah, and they’re comfortable. And I also like to tease people.”

“Wow, no wonder,” Kenta replies, sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Eunki grins. “By the way,” he adds, “I have another red tracksuit. If you ever want match, you can totally feel free to wear it.”

Kenta begins to splutter, but he full-on chokes at Eunki’s next words.

“You know, I’d like to see ‘JUICY’ on your ass probably just as much as you enjoy seeing it on mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no joke tho wiggle wiggle is one of my favorite choreographies and songs of all time bc BRAVE SOUND DROP THAT SHHH and it's absolutely wonderful for warming up your back, core, and thigh muscles

**Author's Note:**

> if you've been following my work clearly i like soulmate!au way too much, lol  
> but anyways, thank you for reading, ~~and i hope you'll stay here until i've updated this collection with all of the stories!~~ ahh this series is finally done! For those of you that've been reading while I update, thank you for supporting me! And for those that are reading after I've completed it, thank you as well :)
> 
> as always, thank you S for being my ever-faithful editor. and thank you V for helping me come up with prompts (finding 12 unique ones is difficult lol). and thank you, reader!


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